Dark
by Brochelle
Summary: Isaac's had problems sleeping for months now. He hates the dark, hates how it reminds him of things he'd rather leave untouched. Hates feeling unsafe. One-shot, written to define how I see their relationship.


It's been two months, but Isaac Clarke's dream is the same.

_Nicole is picking him up by his throat, lifting him like he weighs nothing; her fingers are cold. They numb his throat, and she's choking him with her bony, frigid fingers and her accusations. She wants to know why he can't let her go. She asks every time because the dream has been the same way for two months now._

_Isaac can't speak, for an apparition has stolen his breath. He's spitting out an answer._

_"You were my everything. If I lost you -"_

_He didn't want to think about it. He remembers now how he found her, and he realizes again, like he does every time, that it was his fault. He didn't get there fast enough. If he had -_

_"- I would have nothing."_

_Nicole's fingers fade, and Isaac breathes. She is standing back, her face thawed into a gentle smile. The gore that stained her outfit has disappeared, gone in an eyeblink. She looks like she did when they were happy. She looks young. Acceptance, she says._

_Acceptance._

_The walls crack, rifts stretching across the ceiling like ribbons thrown wild. Plaster rains down on him and he knows he needs to leave. The walls bleed and in them the undead howl and scream for him, pawing at the plaster with outstretched claws and distended fingers. They spit and they shout and they call his name and Isaac has to go, now._

_But every time he reaches out, he misses._

_It's not the horrible, creeping sensation of loss, of knowing that there is nothing for him now. It's not the sudden glare of the gunship's thrusters as he's sucked inside and incinerated, over and over again. _

_It's the look on Ellie's face. The horror, the disbelief, as Isaac slips beyond her reach, and is killed in an instant. It wrenches his heart and he hates himself for that look._

—

He always wakes up in a cold sweat.

The room was silent. The fan was dead where it hung from the ceiling, and the apartment complex's massive generators were quiet in the late hour. His blankets were all in tangled wad on the floor, colored pale by the moonlight filtering in through the gaps in the blinds, and the sheets were wrinkled from where he tossed and turned and fought. It is dark, utterly dark, and Isaac Clarke has to get out.

He hated the dark. He hated the way the shadows grabbed everything and drenched them in unfamiliarity to the point his own home is a mystery. He hated the silence and the suspense as he waits for a scream.

Isaac grumbled, clutching the sheets in white-knuckled fists. His hands sprang open and he rubbed at his eyes.

It was too quiet, and suddenly Isaac needed to hear someone - anyone - talk. _It's too dark_, he told himself. _The walls are too close. I have to get out._

He stumbled into his shoes and pulled on a shirt. He ignored the grease stains in his jeans - God, he needed to do laundry - and hurried out the front door, slipping into the pale-lit hallway of the ninth floor, empty and haunting and horrible.

He hated his home.

The neighbors were quiet, reclusive, and Isaac was thankful for that. He didn't need people knocking on his door, or, God forbid, a welcoming party.

But there were times during the night when his neighbors were too quiet. When the generators, two stories below him, fell silent, and when the lights were cut to conserve power. There were times during the night when he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut.

But it was cheap, and the manager didn't ask questions.

* * *

The rented car was silent as it jetted through the inter-city tunnel. Dazzling street lamps hurtled by, illuminating the seats and the dashboard and Isaac in fiery polaroid flashes.

He kept his mind empty. He deftly avoided the dream - the same dream he had had, for the past two months, every night without fail - and instead focused on the road.

It was late, and no other cars were present. If the freeway had been crowded Isaac would have stayed home.

The radio was silent. The air conditioning unit was broken and it was too warm this time of year for the heater.

The car was quiet and warm and lonely.

Isaac slammed his foot down on the accelerator, and the car jumped forward.

The tunnel slipped behind him and the city loomed into view over the crest of the bridge. Within minutes, Isaac was taking the bypass to the apartments.

Most of his wealth came from whatever credits he had held onto from the Sprawl and the _Ishimura_, and even then he'd given most of it to Ellie. He didn't dare access his bank account - EarthGov would likely be monitoring it. It had been a couple weeks since the Sprawl incident, so they would be investigating it (silently). If he was lucky, he might have been marked on the list of the dead.

In which case, staying under the radar was a very precious concept.

The city was bright and luring, but he turned onto a dark, empty street and parked his car, bumping violently against the curb.

He killed the engine and clambered out of the car. Slamming the door shut, he stumbled to the sidewalk, his eyes heavy with the desire to sleep.

An apartment sat solidly in front of him. Isaac stared up at it, blindly looking over the rugged brick exterior, and the thick carpet of creeping vines along the building's right flank. A single set of stairs lead up to a single door, and beyond that he knows there is a single hallway. The building was one of the oldest on Earth, and had most likely been an apartment complex for most, if not all, of its life.

He walked slowly up the stairs, trying to keep his eyes open. He hardly slept these days. He hated his home and how quiet it was when he woke up, always from the same dream. Isaac fumbled for the key under the welcome mat to open the door. The keys chinked in his hand like distant chimes as he stuffed them into his pocket. He carefully closed the door behind him, locking it in afterthought.

The hall was stark and reminiscent of a hospital.

Isaac stepped quickly until he had reached another flight of stairs at the end of the hall.

His legs ached and his eyes were aching and he briefly considered heading up to the room the next morning, if only he could sleep right here, on the stairs.

Then he was in front of a door marked 27C. Isaac pawed for the key in his pocket. He fumbled with the door, and eventually managed to get it open. The room was blessedly dark.

Isaac hurried for the couch in the living room. Half-aware of what he was doing, he tugged his shoes off and clambered onto the couch.

Curling up, he rested his forehead on his knees and closed his eyes, yearning for sleep. The world fell away and he slipped into a dull and toneless sleep.

* * *

Ellie Langford awoke to the front door opening.

Instantly, she was wide awake and reaching for the gun on her bedside table.

She had no intention for firing it. Discharging a firearm in the small apartment complex would get her evicted and arrested, and she couldn't afford to have her name on any sort of record. It was bad enough she was living off stolen credits she'd found on the Sprawl, and had to use a fake name to pay rent. But the gun was insurance. She'd rather be ready than dead.

The gun was a familiar comfort.

Ellie moved quickly to her living room. The thief would have two places to go - the kitchenette or the living room. If he wasn't in the living room, Ellie would check the kitchenette. He'd be cornered then, and she'd call the cops on -

The front door was wide open. Ellie pawed at the wall until she found the switch, flicked on the light, and the lone bulb hanging from the ceiling poured a dull glow into the room. There was a man curled up on her couch.

Ellie straightened up, and her arms fell to her side, the gun bumping against her thigh. She closed her eyes and sighed, then rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. She left the gun on the coffee table.

Going back to her room, she tugged the thick blanket off the bed. She draped it over Isaac's still body, then left to prepare coffee in the kitchenette. The tiles were cold beneath her bare feet.

* * *

_The Pack is closing in on him and he doesn't have any weapons. He knows he's dead. He remembers the bodies that were left after the Pack had attacked. Like a school of piranhas, they would attack him and surround him, stripping the engineering suit from his skin, and then his skin from his bones. He would be alive for every second of it and he would relive it, over and over again. This part of the dream isn't even the worse. He knows the worst, and this isn't close._

_He trips and now he's falling and the first of the Pack leap for him. His eyes are wide behind the mask._

"Isaac!"

Hands were on his shoulders, shaking him awake. Isaac gasped as he fully woke, staring up into a strange face. A woman was waking him up - when did he -

"Isaac, are you alright?" the woman asked. She had been leaning over him, and now she stood back, letting her slim fingers leave his shoulders as he struggled to sit up. He dawned on him how he must look insane - eyes wide, bloodshot, dark circles resting heavily below them. He was unshaven and his hair had grown thick, and his clothes were wrinkled and dirty. He suddenly became aware of the fact he was in a stranger's home. He thought -

"Isaac." The woman repeats. One of her eyes was hidden behind a patch, the other one widened with worry and the faintest trace of wary fear. Her hair was loose and tangled, hanging over her shoulders. She looked tired. She looked like she's seen hell.

"I'm fine," he whispers. He stares down at his filthy socks on the clean, pastel-colored couch, and swallows nervously. "Was I-?"

"Yeah," Ellie said. She crossed her arms in thought and glanced toward the kitchenette, where the only light in the house is from the stovetop lamp. "You were… screaming. I thought it had something to do with Nicole."

"Oh." He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as they crowded him, vying for his attention. It took control he had practiced for months now. Sometimes it worked.

"Had me worried. Thought you were going to - I don't know."

Isaac knew she was worried he was going to hurt her. It shone in her eye. Suddenly he felt sick with panic that he _had _hurt her.

"It's okay, Isaac. I'm fine."

With that, she left the room, and disappeared into the kitchenette. Her shadow loomed across the wall and Isaac squeezed his eyes shut.

_There's something that growls in the kitchen. Isaac is wide awake and gets off the couch and he slips into hysteria . His suit is gone - where is his suit? His guns are gone. He doesn't have any medical kits, nothing to help him. So he goes to the fire place - the fake fire place, what is a fake fire place to do on a space ship like this? - and grabs a poker._

_He is moving along the wall, avoiding the light from the kitchen. Shadows drift silently across the carpet as the creature in the kitchen rustles around. The poker is hot in his hands and his fingers are drenched in perspiration as he is rounding the corner. He's lifting the poker and staring at the monster. The monster drops its coffee._

The poker falls from his hand and crashes on the tiles.

The shattered remains of a coffee mug were strewn across the table, resting in puddles of steaming, dark coffee. Ellie was pressed up against the far wall, one hand on the counter and close to the steak knives by the stove. Her tank top was stained with coffee and the skin around her collarbone was red and blistering. Her eye wide, staring at him, and Isaac is frozen in place. She was breathing heavily and waiting for him to move.

Isaac's heart was pounding violently and threatening to escape his chest.

"I'm sorry," Isaac mumbled, looking down at his feet. He rubbed fiercely at his face and felt the thick stubble along his chin, and the scar across his cheek, and the bags under his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, forcing control. "I thought there was something in the kitchen."

"Right," Ellie breathed.

She slowly left the wall, still watching him, and started picking up the shards from the coffee mug. She tossed them quickly into the wastebasket, and started wiping up the coffee with a dish towel. Isaac watched as she crossed the kitchenette to the sink, where she put the edge of the same dish towel into the stream of water. She gently daubed at the burned skin on her collarbone. Her hand was shaking and Isaac felt his heart plummet.

"I'm sorry," Isaac said again. "I'm sorry."

Ellie dropped the wet towel into the sink and it landed with a metal-toned plop. She walked toward him and Isaac had to try and not flinch away.

She slowly grabbed his wrist with one smooth hand, and rested her other hand on his shoulder. She guided him out of the kitchenette, and toward the dark bedroom.

He hated the dark; hated it with blind animal terror. He tried to fight against her grip as he stared into the room, frantically trying to discern the big, shadowed shapes. The light of the moon shone through the gaps in the blinds, painting everything like tarnished cutlery.

"Isaac, you need to sleep," Ellie whispered.

He was tensed to run, but she was strong and he kept walking.

They came to the bedside. Ellie sat Isaac on the bed, and then sat next to him, her hand slipping into his calloused one, and squeezing his fingers. The bed was soft and still warm under his hand. He was safe.

He couldn't help it. He started to cry.

Isaac Clarke cried like a child that had fully realized that his life had changed, and that nothing would ever be the same. He cried like a child who had discovered true loss, and had finally understood it when it came crashing down on sensation of complete and utter despair overwhelmed him, and he wept. He was aware only of the tears welding his eyes shut as he cried, and of someone rubbing his back in a great, swirling motion.

He leaned onto Ellie's shoulder, burying his face into the groove of her collarbone and her neck, and sobbed. Her hair tickled at his neck and on his chin as she pulled him closer, enveloping him in a tight embrace. She rocked him back and forth and whispered in his ear as he cried, as he remembered Nicole and Stross and the children of the _Ishimura_. As he remembered the vast emptiness of space and of EarthGov, and how his home was big and lonely and small and crowded all at the same time. He was crying for the hundreds of people that had been driven mad by the Marker; for the people that had torn and cut their own flesh, and mutated into creatures that belonged in hell. He cried for the mothers and the fathers who had to see their own infants turn into horrific monsters, and for the children that had never woken up, killed in their sleep with distended fingers and serrated claws.

He cried because he had almost killed his own friend.

Isaac was tired and the sobs faded. He didn't have the strength to cry anymore.

His eyes felt raw. Choked sobs escaped from his throat as the sorrow withered away, and he realized someone was running their fingers through his hair. As he quieted, the hand moved to his shoulder.

Isaac sighed. He imagined all the horrors slipping out with his breath, to be suspended in the air by the moonlight and the shadows. Slowly, he reached up for Ellie's hand on his shoulder and grasped it. He let it rest on his chest as he clutched her fingers and forced down another sob.

He took a careful breath, then exhaled, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Ellie slowly got up and moved Isaac's sleeping form onto the bed properly. She rested his head on the pillow and tugged the sheets over him. Quietly, she left the room and grabbed the blanket on the couch, and put it back on the bed, on Isaac.

As silently as she could manage, she turned off the lights in the kitchen and grabbed her gun. She returned to her room. Sliding down the wall, she tucked herself into the corner closest to the door and Isaac, and closed her eyes to the dark.

_They dreamed of snow._

* * *

**A/n: My knowledge of Dead Space 1/2 comes from reading random articles on the Dead Space Wiki, and watching my friend play. Nonetheless I am extremely excited for the third game. Apologies for any canon mishaps in this story.**


End file.
